Voices
by Orange Blossom Nin
Summary: [Hints of various couples yaoi and other] [Slight cursing] Is it possible to ever escape? Regrets, hurt and vengence. How does one move on, even years later? Series of vignettes.
1. Naruto: Insomniac

He couldn't sleep.

Of course that was nothing new, he hadn't been able to sleep for years now and he should be used to it by now.

Specifically about two and a half years.

Specifically he really didn't want to talk or think about it.

Two and a half goddamn years.

Maybe this time he could blame it on the heat. Wasn't it supposed to get colder in the desert after the sun had gone down? He didn't know and truth be told, at this exact moment he could really care less, all he knew that he wasn't cold.

Yet his hands were shaking, his body shivering and all he could feel was an intense, burning heat. The kind of heat that burned through his bones, the kind of heat that couldn't possibly exist and yet, there it was.

He couldn't escape it.

Because it was always there.

He was sitting but his leg still managed to shake at a nervous pace. Hands clenching and unclenching on the bright orange material that covered the shaking. He wanted to get up, he wanted to move but most importantly he wanted to fucking punch something. To pound the hell out of some unsuspecting tree until all this heat was gone -_just gone_- and he could finally close his eyes and find something other than rage.

The laugh was weak, harsh to his ears as it cut lowly through the silence of his sleeping comrades. It hadn't worked the last hundreds -_thousands_- of times he had tried it. It just was enough to drain him into a restless dozing, enough to sustain him because of who he was.

It didn't help that he dreamt.

The same dream.

Over and over and over and over and over. So many times that all he had to do was blink and it was burned within his mind again.

Cliffs.

A sky so blue that it was nearly mocking.

Blood.

Betrayal that hurt so much that was barely real.

Darkness.

Such intense black that it was beyond even night.

It had long stopped being a cold slap to the face and moved on to a set of nails -_sharp so goddamn sharp_- that wouldn't stop digging into him.

They were all connected.

The heat.

The dream.

Those nails.

They all belonged to him, he who must not be named. They were all his and he just wanted -_ the taste of blood his taste_- him to take them back.

He just wanted some rest.

-----

Well... that was completely different than what I expected... apologies to Sinful Serenity... I think I rather stole parts of your style, but I just love your stuff so much! It's not really clear in the fic but this is set right before Kakashi, Sakura and Naruto reached the sand village. For the sake of this working lets say it takes more than a day to reach it from Konoha... XD Also I'm going on the assumption that it's his sixteenth... yes this is about his birthday... what you couldn't tell?

I must say that I was rather shocked when I came onto the site today and saw the massive amount of... :shudder: NaruHina and SasuSaku... :shudders again for emphasis: What has happened? And for the record I, probably along with all the SasuNaru fans out there, am very pissed at the filler episodes that the anime is showing... I am going by manga alone...

Anyways... Happy B-Day my Naruto-kun, may all your... :ahem: perhaps it would be wise not to finish that sentence...

Inspiration: Tori Amos, Tori Amos, and Tori Amos... Raspberry Swirl, A Sorta Fairytale, Cruel... I blame this on my friend's obsession leaking into me

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN IT :sobs:

SASUNARU FOREVER!


	2. Kakashi: Fear

There are holes in the conversation now.

Places they carefully skirt around and avoid all together.

Times when they automatically stop and wait for the expected insult and by the time they realize it, the silence has lagged just a moment to long and it's to late to save it.

Maybe even to late to save themselves.

For him it's the idea of having to get used to it again and the fright that someday there may be even more that he already carries, than he ever wanted to carry. He, who's supposed to be the adult within the situation, the only one who's really supposed to know better.

How can he even dare to voice the fear that lives in his heart? The one he thought had died so many times long ago, under rocks, in a wild fury and another sort of hurt all together. How can he explain that it's come back even stronger and more chilling?

He can't, so he says nothing, entrusts the objects of his greatest fear and perhaps even love, to people stronger and better than him. And when they come back, tries his best to stay one step ahead, to notice everything and stop anything he can. Because he failed more times than he likes to count and after this, there is nothing else. Because this time it should have been different and in a way it is but not really.

He's not the victim, or at least not the intended one, but he's not the support either. He's never been in this position before, no one has ever taught him how to comfort. He never realized how hard and frustrating and difficult it could be. How much worry his heart could carry and how he could still feel so much like a parent that it is slightly creepy and more than a little aggravating.

When he wakes up and realizes that he's too well rested and that that stupid blond haired kid has once again spent the night staring into the darkness. When he realizes that it's nearly impossible to get the kid to talk about it because he never bothered to get that close to begin with. And know that all the ramen, all the advice and the missteps at affection meant nothing because if the opportunity had arisen, he would have chosen the betrayer over him.

They had been a family, a quarreling, annoying sort of family, but one nonetheless. He had been their father, despite having barely known his own, and while it was something he tried desperately to escape, that sort of title and responsibility, he still got it and he had gone on to make a mess of it.

He had failed them, failed the one who is gone, failed the one standing next to him. He doesn't know how to make it up to him, how to make it right again. He doesn't know how to convey what he felt so deeply that day, holding a child's limp body praying that he could still hold on, trying to ignore that he was one short.

He had never failed so bad in his life, he had never feared so much in his life. To him it seems that he was never much before in his life. He finds himself wondering sometimes if the others feel like this and then remembers that he wanted it. He wanted the genius, he wanted the raw potential, the intelligence, the chance to make something so perfect that it would never break the way he had so easily.

He doesn't know how to say to the one next to him, let me go ahead, let me protect you; this time let me help you. He doesn't know how to gain back his trust and confidence and his love. He doesn't know how to fill in the holes left behind, what to say to make a small true smile to appear and give him hope.

He doesn't know what to say and the conversation lags and the silence goes on.

---

Stupid idea wouldn't leave me alone. Usually I can't even write Kakashi! But Insomniac was picking at my brain and suddenly I needed to write more :sigh: What have I gotten myself into?

Inspiration: More Tori Amos... Winter & Gold Dust. No, really, I'm not obsessed.


	3. Orochimaru: Certainties

Title: Orochimaru:Certainties  
Rating: PG  
Pairing/Character/s: OrochimaruxJiraiya(sorta)  
Spoiler/s: Up to 300 in mangaverse (in a roundabout way)  
Summary: Orochimaru has always spoken in certainties. He has always known what's going on and he always will.  
A/N: Alright so I caved, it's just so much easier for me to do it this way without the hassel of wrangling with Quick Edit... DID YOU HEAR ME? I CAVE! HAPPY NOW?... oh and this is an older piece from March if I remembercorrectly.  
**

* * *

**

**Certainties **

I will bring them together again.

And what a sight it will be.

These children.

These prodigies.

These _monsters_.

They have so much potential, so much hope, so much _life_; it seems impossible that they could fall so easily, so devastatingly far.

But then again, wasn't it to be expected?

They are the next generation of weapons in a long _illustrious_ history of tools. They have been conditioned from day one, built from a nearly rock-solid set of strength and convictions. No matter how hated, no matter how loved they were the shining future of a powerful village.

But so was I.

So were we.

I know you see yourself in him. But that can't be all; it can't be enough to make you push him so desperately towards his goal. Is it that you see your redemption in him? Your second chance? In the proud brilliant eyes, so similar and yet so far away from your own that you feel he may claw his way to victory?

And here I thought you had given up such fanciful thinking so long ago.

He is a jinchuuriki.

A vessel.

They both are.

Things to be _used_.

In all our long history I have never been able to understand how you have not been able to see that. You have always been blind. It repulsed and yet equally attracted me to you when we were children. In a way it still does.

You never really gave up hoping did you? After everything, there was always a piece of it that burrowed itself deep within your heart and refused to let go.

To _give in_.

What a lewd thought, hmm?

But my dear, _old_ friend, you cannot stop the inevitable. If it is one thing you should have learned by now is that time _always_ repeats itself. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years. It makes no difference; it's always on replay.

Yes, even _you_ cannot stop it.

_My dear one_.

And it will always kill you, won't it?

Because you couldn't save them.

You couldn't save _us_.

And that will never change. Because we never did. Because they never will. And you're still too stupid to see.

That these children are just shadow puppets. Pantomimes of lost stories and distant memories that should have stayed dead and buried. And yet still they persist, and still you doggedly snarl at my fleeting scent. As the past repeats, time goes on and the future begins its last stand.

I cannot ignore the signs, as you seem to determined to do.

I will do _my_ duty.

I _will_ bring them together.

They _will_ break one another.

And what a sight it _will_ be.


End file.
